The X-Files
by spookygillovnyfangirl
Summary: Special Agent Zhalia Moon is assigned against her will to investigate the so called X-Files. Her partner? No other than mysterious Dante Vale, a man who worked for a secret organization in the past. Unfortunately, their quest to bring the truth to light isn't seen with good eyes by a certain group of people. And they will do anything to keep everything a secret. Even kill.


_**And behold, for vandagoldie has returned from the death!**_

**Nah, just kidding. But considering how long I was absent from the fandom, you could have thought I was indeed dead.**

**Anyway, sorry to everyone, but especially to everythingisreal30, who waited around 4 and a half months for me to message her back again.**

* * *

**_Chapter 1_**

**_The Beginning_**

* * *

**Washington D.C., 5:56 a.m.**

Zhalia's day, or better, night, started with a phone call.

She blinked one eye open, groaning at the interruption. Then, blindly reached for the bedside table with her right arm, feeling around for the slim shape of the device. When she found it, she quickly brought it to her face, squinting at the sudden bright light.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Someone died."

Zhalia turned on her side to turn on the lamp, cursing under her breath. She momentarily withdrew her phone from her ear to look at the clock in it.

"It's 6 a.m., McCoy," she said, voice hoarse from sleep.

"Yes, I know. And that's why I've already bought you a cup of tea," he said, in that tone he used whenever he wanted to ask some favor.

"You could buy me the entire shop, I don't care," a loud yawn escaped Zhalia's lips in that moment and she borrowed deeper into the mattress, as if somehow she could merge with it and sleep for the next few hundred years. "It's my day off, Derek. Call someone else to help you out."

"Well, but I think this case is for you."

Zhalia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "McCoy..."

"Trust me, Zhalia. You want so see my homicide victim."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you having hearing problems, old man? It's my day off, okay? Off. So that means no work, just me and some peace," she paused for a moment, inhaling deeply. "Besides, I work for the FBI, not the local police."

"Yes, you're right. But something tells me it's not going to take a lot of time before the cavalry is called. So why don't you do us all a favor and come by before some other agent from the FBI takes over? And who knows, I might even be saving you from turning into the creepy old cat lady of the neighborhood."

Zhalia paused for a moment, pondering. She knew Derek wasn't usually too keen on calling for help, so it wasn't needed a genius to know something was off. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you asking me for help? You never did, so why now?"

Derek sighed from the other end of the line, a tired and low sigh that seemed to weight a ton. "Could you just come here and take a look at the body? Please?"

Zhalia arched an eyebrow. She couldn't remember the last time the detective had begged her to do something.

"Only if you tell me what is so special about it."

"Honestly?" he took a sharp breath, as if what he was going to tell her next brought him physical pain. "This is the weirdest shit that I've ever seen, and that's saying something in our line of work. I think that you could help bring some sense into the case before this goes to the newspapers and all hell breaks loose. So please, stop whining and get dressed. And, if when you see the victim you don't even bat an eyelid, I promise to buy you a cup of tea every day for the rest of the year."

Interest now truly picked, Zhalia sat on the edge of the bed. "How weird is it?"

"The kind of weird that it's weird enough to freak me out."

"Hmm... Interesting," she stated, wondering if she should go and have a look or not. Derek had not exactly told her what was so different about this case, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious.

With a resigned sigh, she gave up. She had already lost her sleep anyway. "Fine, send me the address in a text message. I'll go and get dressed."

Derek smiled, relieved. "Great. See you in a bit."

Zhalia decided that he absolutely owned her.

* * *

The tea was cold when she arrived.

"This best be worth it, McCoy," Zhalia said through chattering teeth, rubbing her arms in hopes that the friction would warm her.

The detective smiled at her, with a hint of mischievousness showing in his emerald eyes. "Oh, you bet it is."

They quickly made their way through the street with the flashing blue and red lights of the police cars illuminating the face of several people, some of them there because they were genuinely concerned, while others only wanted to see the show.

Zhalia wanted to call them crazy for being outdoors in that weather when they were not even going to see the dead body.

Derek held the yellow tape surrounding the perimeter of the park so she could pass, and she did so, but noticed that all the while he had been looking at something behind her shoulder. When she turned her head to follow his line of vision, she saw a figure covered by the shadows an old chestnut tree cast above him.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Everything alright?" she asked, directing her gaze to Derek.

"Think so. It's just..." he seemed he was going to tell her something, but as if he had thought better than that, ended up shaking his head. "Forget it, it's nothing. Let's go."

Zhalia nodded, but while she and Derek followed the trail of dirt illuminated only by the pale light of some street lamps, she could feel a burning gaze in her back.

She shivered then, but something told her it wasn't just because of the bone freezing October air.

* * *

**New York City, some hours earlier**

Dante Vale made his way through the dimly lighted and empty hallways of the building, wondering from time to time what he was doing in that grey and hollow city when he could be enjoying warm and shiny Venice.

Oh, right. Work.

Don't get him wrong; he loved what he did. But when someone wakes one at a highly inappropriate hour of the night and said one is obliged to get up, one cannot be satisfied.

So, with bags under his eyes, Dante opened the door to Metz's office.

"Good night, Dante," the man behind the mahogany desk said.

"Hello, Metz."

"Please, sit."

Dante made as he was told, eager to get whatever it was done so he could catch his flight home.

As if knowing this, behind Metz, the panoramic view of New York seemed to mock him, with its tall skyscrapers seeming to touch the sky.

"So, what is it?"

"We have a homicide in Washington D.C.," Metz informed, somber. "We think it was the Organization, but we're not sure." The older man sighed then, and for a moment, his eyes held a knowledge and loss that made Dante look away.

"I knew him. He had a family. I watched as his kids grew up with each passing year."

The room went very quiet, silent, and the city below them seemed to do the same. For a moment, it felt as if time had stopped, grieving for Metz's loss.

Then, as if waking up from a dream, the man blinked and the moment was lost.

"Anyway, we want you to go there and stop the local police from furthering their investigation. Take over the case and get it done as soon as possible. Make the coroner tell in his report that the cause of death was stabbing. And then, in your report, I want you to tell that it was a theft that went wrong."

Dante nodded. "Okay. Anything else?"

"No. You can go now."

Dante nodded and in a matter of seconds, was walking in the direction of the elevator.

Venice could wait, anyway.

* * *

**Washington D.C., 6:34 a.m.**

Derek, Zhalia thought bitterly, was right.

During their short walk through the park, she could see and hear the expression of bafflement of some personnel from the technical police.

At first, she was confused. Some of the people she had seen whilst walking by them were on the line of work for years, like Derek, while others almost a life. Surely they had seen a lot of weird things on that time, so why did they look like they had just seen a ghost?

The answer was given to her when she and Derek stopped by a small fountain.

Beside it, the body of a man lay lifelessly on the ground, his neck contorted in an awkward angle. His white shirt had almost been ripped to shreds and turned crimson. Underneath him, a pool of red liquid made Zhalia wonder if he hadn't drowned in his own blood.

But that wasn't what was weird.

"Name of the victim is Eathon Lambert," Derek said, reading the notes he had scribbled whilst she hadn't yet arrived. How could one read the mess of dots and scratches that made the incomprehensible handwriting of his, no one knew.

Zhalia, on her part, was too shocked to do anything else but stare.

"He was found around 5 a.m. by earlier joggers Josh Clinton and Amanda Hart," Derek stated, closing his small notebook and placing it inside his coat pocket. "They both work as doctors on Saint Mercy Hospital and were doing their usual running before their shift. External observation points the cause of death as being blood loss by stabbing," he paused for a second, observing her. "Now, what do you think?"

Zhalia breathed deeply.

"He's... Glowing," she said, because it was the only thing she could think of watching the dead body. The golden light shined from the inside of his skin, as if someone had put a giant bulb inside the dead man to light him like a Christmas tree.

"I can see that. But what do you think caused this?"

Zhalia gulped. "I... I don't know."

Derek nodded. "Thought you would say something like that."

"But how is this even possible? People don't glow."

"Do you think I don't know that? It's freaking me out. And you don't even know what the coroner said."

"What?"

Derek nodded to the dead man. "Touch his forehead."

Zhalia crouched beside the body and slowly rested her hand on Eathon Lambert's forehead, as if afraid the light he emitted could somehow burn her.

"He's warm," she stated.

"And that's the problem."

"Why?"

"Because, according to the coroner, he's already in _rigor mortis_, which means that he has been dead for at least six hours."

Zhalia raised an eyebrow. "But... That's impossible."

"I know. At first, I thought someone had killed the man indoors, or somewhere warm, and then dumped the body here very little ago. But-"

"The body doesn't seem to have been moved and the blood underneath him speaks for itself," Zhalia concluded. "Not to say that it's extremely cold outside. Even if he had been dumped, there's no way he would be still this warm."

"Exactly," he paused for a moment, before adding, "Now, what is your opinion?"

"I think..." she exhaled deeply, already feeling a headache coming. "I think that we should wait for the autopsy results. I'm sure the coroner will find a logical explanation to this."

"And meanwhile?"

"Meanwhile, we do what we do best: we investigate."

* * *

Zhalia was giving instructions to two officers when Derek approached her.

"So, just checked with the neighborhood around the park to know if they had seen or heard something, but everyone told me they were asleep."

"No luck there, then," Zhalia sighed, crossing her arms.

"No. Guess we'll have to wait to know the cause of dead and proceed from there."

"And what about family?" Zhalia inquired. "Did he have any?"

"They live in Ireland. Got Emma to contact them for me, you know how much I hate breaking the news." Zhalia arched an eyebrow at that, and Derek shrugged. "What? I just thought two FBI agents are better than one."

"She's just got her divorce, McCoy. Don't get any ideas."

"I promise nothing."

She rolled her eyes and momentarily wondered if she was damaging her vision after doing that gesture so many times at Derek.

"Ma'am?"

An officer whose name tag read 'R. Sullivan' smiled uncertainly at her.

"Yes?"

"There's a man who wishes to speak to you." He pointed gently with his head to somewhere behind his back. Zhalia followed the invisible line and found a figure in a yellow trench-coat behind the tape.

"Be careful with her," she said to Derek, who threw his hands in the air in signal of surrender.

She quickly made her way through the dirt path, her high heel boots crushing the red and yellow leaves beneath them.

Something was off, she could feel it, but couldn't tell what it was.

* * *

"Special Agent Zhalia Moon," she said, extending a hand to the man.

Now that she was right in front of him, she noticed his hair was the color of the fire, and something in the back of her mind told her she could get burned because of him.

"Dante Vale," he retorted, and gently shook her hand.

"So, Mr. Vale, how can I help you?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Well, I'm here to take over the investigation."

Zhalia's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I think my superior has already talked with Assistant Director Guggenheim and explained the situation to him. I'm sure that if you call him he'll tell you to let me do my job."

Zhalia looked baffled. "Is this some joke?"

"I'm afraid it isn't."

Zhalia narrowed her eyes, observing him for any signal that he was lying. Then, as if coming to a decision, she nodded to herself.

"Alright. I just need to see your badge."

She could see his eyes dancing in amusement and the beginning of a smile blooming on his face, and her insides gave a spin.

Oh, great. She was attracted to the guy. Just what she needed.

He took from his coat pocket his badge and ID, that just like hers, was inside of some sort of wallet.

She arched an eyebrow.

"What the heck is the Huntik Foundation and why haven't I ever heard about it?" she inquired, suspicious of the man.

"You haven't heard about it because you're not supposed to," he clarified, with a hint of condescension that put Zhalia on edge.

"So," she began, trying to stay cool, "what you're saying is that you work for one of those secret organizations outside of the Government?"

"Exactly."

Zhalia nodded. "I see."

They stayed like that, enveloped by the darkness and cold that made their breaths condensate in the air. It seemed as some sort of battle, to see who was the first one to give up, and Zhalia felt alarmed at discovering that she was enjoying this.

Finally looking away, she turn her head from right to left searching for some officer. When she spotted Sullivan some feet away from her, she shouted his name.

The blond young man, who she guessed had barely left Academy, came running.

"Yes, ma'am?"

She could feel Dante's curious gaze on her back, and for some reason, she found herself with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

"Arrest this man."

She barely heard Sullivan's soft 'yes, ma'am' over Dante's exclamation of 'What?'.

"Oh, c'mon, do you really think I bought your story for even a second?"

"Agent Moon, you are committing a terrible mistake," Dante warned, while the young officer handcuffed him.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be careful of your big and powerful friends," she said, not even bothering to hide her sarcasm.

"Oh, but you should."

Sullivan led Dante away, and Zhalia felt like she could finally breathe.

Minutes later, though, when she received a phone call from a certain furious Assistant Director, she started taking his warning seriously.

* * *

**This is something of an experiment, so sorry if this seems rushed or something like that. I started watching the X-Files a month or so ago and thought that it'd be great to see a Huntik version of it. So here it is. Yep.**

**Anyway, depending on your opinions to this, I'll either continue this story or just forget it. So, please, review ;)**


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